Animal Magnetism
by GoneMental42
Summary: On a Saturday outing with Lisbon, poor Jane finds himself at the mercy of Mother Nature. Mild swearing, suggestion of adult theme (nothing explicit).
1. Chapter 1- A Walk In the Park

Animal Magnetism

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist except for a couple of seasons on disc. Many thanks to the genius of Bruno Heller and the cast (especially the alluring Simon Baker), writers and crew for my latest obsession.

A/N: This is my first fanfiction in a long while, and I will make some errors along the way because I'm "technologically challenged", but I hope to improve with time and experience. Please bear with me. Now, on with the show!

"What a perfect Saturday morning, Teresa," Patrick said, giving her a wide grin.

"Cool temps, nice breeze. Even the little birdies are singing."

"Yep, it's like an old Disney cartoon," replied Teresa, almost laughing, as they walked hand in hand on the path winding around Austin's Town Lake. Cyclists and joggers passed them, and the couple gave them a wide berth. They were enjoying each other's company, but were not so lost in each other that they didn't pay attention to their surroundings, and, besides people, there were canine "land mines" they had to be mindful of as well.

"Glad we have the weekend off."

"For now," Teresa said. "Look, Patrick, we should try that sometime." She pointed to a little group of kayakers paddling lazily on the lake. "Looks like fun."

Patrick looked at the idiots, uh, kayakers, and said casually, "Meh, looks like too much work. Besides, what if we fell in.?"

Teresa rolled her eyes and sighed with a put-upon smile. "That's what the life jackets are _for, _Patrick. In case you _do _fall in." _And honestly,_ she thought, _would a little exercise kill you?_

But Patrick was already planning just such a kayak trip right here on Town Lake for them. _Next weekend, maybe. Hmmm…_ A wistful smile that spread across his face as he thought about those plans was quickly wiped off when Patrick felt and saw something land on his shoulder. Great, bird poop.

Teresa noticed the grimace on Patrick's face, then the offending substance on his shoulder. She hid the smile threatening to break on her face by searching her pocket for a napkin or something to help him get it off.

Secretly, Teresa enjoyed their exchanges, especially since they'd gotten together. She'd come to realize that they'd been flirting for years through their bantering. Well, some of it, anyway. Maybe she could prod Patrick into that lake kayak trip- or something else athletic- by his promise of "a day of doing anything _you_ want." Today they were playing it by ear.

"Ugh," Patrick said and stopped and looked at the sole of his shoe.

"Land mine?" asked Teresa with a chuckle. Poor Patrick. At least it wasn't her shoe.

"Yeah, a soft and squishy one, too," he said as he scraped the stinky muck off on an exposed tree root. "These are new shoes."

"Oh well, by the time we stop for lunch, you'll probably have gotten most of it off."

Patrick looked at his girlfriend, who was trying so hard to keep a straight face.

"That's right, Teresa, _laugh _at my pain. Wait'll _you_ step in one." He gave her an exaggerated frown and a mock sniffle. First the bird poop, then the dog poop.

She couldn't resist one more jab. "I hope you're not too pooped." This earned her a scowl. "Come along, poor baby, that community garden can't be far. We wanted to pick some vegetables for dinner, remember?"

Patrick put his arm around Teresa's shoulders and replied gallantly, "Of course, love of my life. Lead the way."

"Not far off, my ass," Patrick exaggeratingly panted. "I bet we walked ten miles!"

He spied Teresa's put upon look and said, "Oh come on, you love it when I do that. It's theatre!"

Teresa just smiled brightly at him, the little weasel. He was arrogant, egotistical, grandiose, sweet, loving, and caring. But he was never boring. He was always chall-

enging her, and Teresa had come to realize over the years that she liked a challenge.

"We're here. Why don't we eat lunch, then see what's in the garden? I'm starving."

Since the kayakers, they'd stopped to admire paintings an outdoor art class were making and watched some kite fliers in a nearby field. Plus, they'd almost been run over by a beagle dragging a leash with his nose to the ground, and, a minute later, by a man who'd stopped and asked them if they'd seen a beagle dragging a leash. They'd pointed at the path ahead of them.

Just as Patrick and Teresa entered the garden, they were thanked by the beagle's owner who'd finally caught up with his dog. Patrick had been extra careful where he stepped this time.

Lunch was just sandwiches and water (and coffee for Teresa) but was gone within minutes. They'd worked up a good appetite. They sat, ate, and people watched with Patrick reading most everyone he saw, and he was probably right. And there were a lot of people out. Everyone, it seemed, was enjoying this fine Saturday by being out instead of cooped up inside.

The garden was busy with volunteers watering and weeding, and surprisingly, there were still some produce left. Teresa was afraid there'd be nothing left.

Their hunt had yielded a few tomatoes and a couple of onions when Patrick spotted a couple of fat peppers hanging in the middle of a bush. He was about to stick his arm inside when one of the volunteers warningly said "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Patrick paused briefly before nonchalantly waving away her concerns and said, "I've got this."

Within seconds he yelped (like a little girl, as Teresa would put it later) and pulled out his arm, scratching and swatting at it maniacally. Teresa frantically asked him what was wrong.

"Ants! Damn fire ants!" he said, scratching furiously, then in front of seemingly knowing bystanders, did the fastest disrobing of his shirt that Teresa had ever seen.

Teresa helped him brush off any stray ants, more concerned with his well-being than half his luscious torso laid bare, fine as it was. She then began rubbing a wet towel that someone had thoughtfully given her over everywhere he'd been bitten and stung, and she accepted at the volunteer's urging a small bowl of a dubious looking bubbling white paste. She smelled vinegar.

"Baking soda and vinegar," the woman said. "Spread this everywhere he's been stung. It should help ease the itching."

"Thanks," Teresa said with a grateful smile.

"Sorry," the woman continued, "we've been trying to get rid of the damn things, but they can be stubborn. As for the bites and stings, all you should get are pimples. My grandson calls them "pus blisters".

Then she got a worried look on her face. "Unless you're allergic to fire ant stings?" She directed her worry at Patrick. "Although I suspect you'd have shown a reaction by now," she mused to herself.

"Don't know. Never been stung before." Patrick replied simply with a blissful look on his face as Teresa ministered to his injuries.

Afterwards, Patrick and Teresa sat down at a picnic table in the garden (checking for ants first) and sat back to relax and let the paste dry and work its magic. He looked much better, and she allowed herself to enjoy the view- including the one next to her.

By the time Patrick and Teresa got back to her apartment, they'd collapsed into bed, worn out. "What a day," he said with a tired sigh.

They had spent the rest of the day walking the rest of the length of Town Lake, taking part of the many activities on and near the path. They ended their walk where they started- at the South Congress bridge, where they watched the exit of the many thousands of Mexican freetail bats from under the bridge. At least a hundred other people were there. They'd picked an ant-free site on the hill behind the Austin American-Statesman. Patrick had just hoped he wouldn't get pooped on.

"Call me a party pooper if you want, Teresa," he told her in bed that night. "I've been pooped on, stepped in poop, been attacked by fire ants and mosquitoes-"

"You should've put on bug repellant, like I did."

"-been nearly run over by a wayward beagle and his owner, had that same dog nearly pee on me-"

"Boo hoo."

"-so don't blame _me_ for feeling like everything was out to get me today."

"Don't forget the squirrel. What the hell was that about?" Then a thought occurred to Teresa and she said with a mischievous grin, "Hey, maybe you looked like a nut to him."

Patrick gave Teresa his best sad clown face.

"What a pouter," she happily said. He couldn't believe it- she was enjoying this!

"You're just trying to get sympathy sex, aren't you? I know you enjoyed today, you faker."

"Yes on both counts," he happily admitted and snuggled into her side. "Is it working?"

"You betcha," Teresa said, and she was the last thing to attack Patrick that day. That attack he enjoyed.


	2. Chapter 2

Animal Magnetism

Chapter 2: Attack of the Centurions

A/N: I want to make a couple of notes about the last chapter. One, this is about the story itself. It turns out it wasn't really Humor/Romance, it was almost all humor with just a smidgen of romance at the end, or maybe pillow talk. Which brings me to point Two, in which was I think I mislabeled the rating as K when it probably should've been T, but a tame T. Third, there is such a public park in Austin as Zilker Metropolitan Park (not to be confused with the much smaller Little Zilker Park elsewhere), which is where I placed the main body of that chapter. I went to ZMP a couple of months ago to get a feel for the place, but it was nearly deserted except for a few joggers and cyclists, and most of what I walked through was fenced off as it seemed to have been going through some upgrades. Plus, the weather was a little cool and damp, which was probably why I saw no other pedestrians. For that chapter, I imagined Town Lake to be on the other side of the path Patrick and Teresa walked on, and I thought up out of whole cloth all the activities and the community garden because that's just what I wanted. For all I know, all those things may actually exist. Now, I think Town Lake is called something else like Lady Bird Lake, but I knew it as the former. I'd love to go up to Austin again and explore more of ZMP and other notable spots, but my funds are a bit low for those excursions. I'm po'. Lastly and point Four, I do my best to keep spelling and punctuation errors out of my writing, but I write on an ancient Dell laptop. Every so often it sends the cursor to random places throughout the text, and I don't get any warning. It's frustrating, but some friends gave me this laptop awhile back, so I really am grateful to have a working computer to write on. Thanks, Ron and Chris !

Boy, what a long A/N!

Dennis Abbott was frustrated. At times, he could be called bothered, perturbed, irritated, constipated (just the look), and just plain pissed off. Mostly, but not always, it was directly due to Patrick Jane. Okay, maybe indirectly, too.

Today, it was because of this one damn case they were working on, the FitzSimmons case. The team had several open cases, and while the others were coming along surprisingly well, this one had them at a temporary standstill. All because a maybe suspect/maybe witness had clammed up. Abbott wondered if it was out of fear, or stubbornness or something else. He frowned in concentration. He knew not every case was going to progress smoothly. Sometimes cases didn't get solved for weeks, months or even years. Sometimes they never get solved at all.

"Well, we can't do anything anyway until the brother flies in from New York," Cho reminded Abbott. "And besides, it _is_ 5 p.m., and it _is_ Friday." He took a sip of his cold coffee and grimaced, putting it down on his desk. "I could take another crack at the guy," Cho offered. But…no. After their repeated attempts over a few hours, the guy had asked for his lawyer, and Cho swore he saw the guy sweating a few bullets even though he tried to maintain a cool exterior. Cho knew he was desperate when he even considered trying a Jane maneuver. Like that would've worked.

"Yeah, it _is _the start of the weekend," Abbott agreed distractedly, massaging the back of his neck, "and hardworking government employees deserve a break now and then."

Cho made a little grunt in agreement. Abbott wasn't making a joke about the common (and oftentimes true) public perception about government employees—lazy, money grubbing thieves in bloated departments working on some senator's pet pork project. He remembered from a few years ago Alaska's infamous Bridge to Nowhere, as it was dubbed. The government employees—at least in the Austin FBI offices—worked long, productive hours, or at least long hours spent trying to crack tough cases. Sometimes it seemed they didn't know how to relax. He knew a certain very tough little kickass Federal agent who fit that image perfectly.

Cho heard the gurgling of the break room's coffeemaker and figured someone was making a pot for themselves, settling in for a long night of paperwork or research. Probably Lisbon, he thought. But there was an odd, faint smell that didn't smell like coffee. He dismissed it. Sometimes, he came across phantom odors in strange places in this building.

"Speaking of hardworking, Lisbon's still here," Abbott said and nodded towards the keyboard clacking in her office, her face lit up by the monitor. "Doesn't look like she's finishing up anytime soon. And Jane's still here." Jane was lying down on the couch in Lisbon's office, eyes closed and probably _not_ sleeping. He was probably listening to every word they said, since they were close enough to Lisbon's office.

"Hey, maybe we can take a fresh look at the details of this case. We had some notes in a file—" Abbott stopped, his face crinkled in annoyance at the not-coffee odor that, stronger now, began to wend its way from elsewhere in the office. Cho had the same expression on his face.

_Smells like the sweet and sour pickles my grandmother used to make, _thought Abbott wistfully.

"Reminds me of the dishes my grandmother made for our family when I was growing up," Cho said. Abbott wasn't aware he'd said his thought out loud. "It's a little strong, though."

"Sorry, guys, I had beans for lunch," Jane said with a big grin on his face. He hadn't gotten up or even opened his eyes, but he quietly laughed at his own joke.

"Shut up, Jane," Lisbon said with a half-smile, trying to wave the fumes away from her face. "It's vinegar. Someone's running vinegar through the coffeemaker to clean out the hard water deposits. It works great, it's cheap, but hot vinegar stinks."

The gurgling stopped, and a middle-aged woman poked her head from around the corner of the break room with a sheepish expression. "Sorry, Dennis, I thought everyone on this part of the floor had already left for the day."

"It's okay, Mooney," he told her as he headed into Lisbon's office. "Just, next time, please warn us." She gave a quick and efficient little nod before disappearing again.

"In answer to your question, _Dennis_, I have the FitzSimmons file in my trailer," Jane said, finally sitting up and stretching lazily.

Cho watched Jane and shook his head slowly. Jane reminded him of a housecat—he does as he pleases, lounges wherever he likes, and sleeps all day. Yep, just like a housecat.

"Why don't we go find it, then, and get out of this stinky office," Abbott said cheerfully and clapped Jane on the back. "Besides, I'd like to see your new digs, Jane. You don't live in our parking lot anymore, right?" Jane ignored the last possibly snarky comment.

"Okay, but I don't know if there's enough space in my car for all three of us."

"We're not taking your car, Jane. I don't feel like risking life and limb in that bucket of bolts."

Cho looked back at Lisbon to see her expression, and saw she had a face-splitting smile and was shaking with laughter.

On the ride over to the Pecan Grove Trailer Park*, they had gone from discussing what they knew about the case- trying to approach it from new angles- to where they might go to eat after they got the file. When they drove into the trailer park (in Abbott's SUV), the sun hadn't yet set.

They exited the vehicle, and Cho continued looking at their surroundings. A beautiful golden light suffused the park. Most of the trailers' windows were lit up, some trailers were festooned with lights, and there was everything from doublewide mobile homes to RVs to a few Airstream trailers, in all different conditions. Jane's was a vintage Airstream. They'd heard music, laughter and chatter nearby when he'd gotten out of the SUV, and there were lights in the surrounding trees. He saw there was an Airstream nearby where there was a barbecue in use and looked to be the source of the music, laughter and chatter.

"Well, somebody already started the weekend," Abbott said approvingly.

"One of my neighbors told me last weekend he was going to be throwing a barbecue and invited me," said Jane, and drew in a deep lungful of air. "Smells good. I'm getting hungry."

As if in agreement, Cho's stomach growled, and Abbott and Jane turned to look at him in amusement.

"Guess I'm hungry too," was all he said.

Jane smiled and bounded up the few steps to his trailer door, keys in hand. The door creaked as he opened it, went in and it slammed shut.

Abbott and Cho turned to idly look around the trailer park again. It was near full dark, yet the lighting of the place brought the intimate splendor into full bloom. Colorful, pre-recorded music played nearby but further away than the party trailer, sounding somewhat like the kind of music an ice cream truck would play. An image popped into Cho's head of a carousel. Not an ice cream truck, but a carousel. That was it.

A thump and some swearing came from inside Jane's trailer, and both men briefly turned their heads towards it, then back to their surroundings.

"Is that a carousel over there?" asked Abbott disbelievingly.

"It sure is," came a voice off to their side. "An authentic Dentzel carousel, circa 1905. I restored it myself," said the man proudly. They looked at him. Tall and lanky with longish brown hair and a brown Vandyke beard. "With some help, of course," dipping his head in humility. "It's for the park's kids, and the kids at heart."

"Oh," was all either Cho or Abbott said. What sounded like a horse whinny next attracted their attention, and they noticed a little girl riding a pony being led by an adult.

_They have a pony here, too, _thought Cho with look of amazement, and shook his head with a smile. This place is like a carnival. No wonder Jane likes it here. He fits right in- a carnival atmosphere without the seediness of his youth, and he's not forced to perform.

Another, louder thump and some unidentifiable words came from Jane's trailer.

"Both of you are welcome to join the party if you like. You work with Patrick and Teresa, right? We invited both of them last weekend. We got plenty of food and beer."

Cho's stomach answered for him again, and he nodded. "Thanks. I could go for a plate. _I am not Rigsby, I am not Rigsby, I am not Rigsby. _

Jane's trailer door suddenly burst open and he flew out, startling the three men. Wild-eyed and panting, he immediately ran back up and locked the door. There was no file in his hands.

Abbott and Cho hadn't moved an inch. They just looked at Jane and each other. _What the hell is wrong with Jane?_

Jane hurriedly stepped away from his trailer, still wild-eyed, pale and shaking. He shook his head and arms a few times and very quickly and nervously kept brushing nothing in particular off his body.

"You okay, Jane?" asked Abbott tentatively, much like one does with a crazy person. He asked half-jokingly, "You didn't find a dead body in there, did you?"

"They're everywhere, _hundreds_ of them," Jane said emphatically.

"What were?" asked Cho, going into witness questioning mode.

"Scorpions! They were on my bed, in my kitchen, in my bathroom, even on the walls! My trailer, my _home_, is infested with those nasty, horrible little bringers of agony, torture and death!"

Cho sighed a sigh of the long-suffering. He felt pity for Lisbon. "I'll get the file. How bad can it be? They're probably the local species of scorpions." He grabbed Jane's keys and went inside the lions' den.

"I swear a few even flew at me, Dennis," he said more evenly to Abbott, who scoffed at him. Jane had finally started to calm down. "I was stung by a scorpion when I was eight. It hurt like a bitch, and it damn near killed me."

Cho came back out with the file, walking normally. "You're right, Jane, you do have a scorpion infestation, but I didn't see hundreds. A few dozen maybe, and they are the local species, the striped bark scorpion, _Centruroides vittatus._ Their sting is painful but not fatal, unless you have a bad reaction to the venom." Cho sounded like he swallowed an encyclopedia. He handed the file to Abbott, and turned back to Jane, saying "Get an exterminator, you big wuss." Then he walked over to the party to join in the festivities, his coworkers and the neighbor following.

"They _flew_ at you, Jane?" Abbott asked, not believing Jane for a second. Naturally, he smelled bullshit.

"Of course not, Dennis. I don't what you're talking about. Scorpions can't _fly_," Jane said offhandedly as he was handed a plate of succulent grilled beef that was falling apart, roasted and seasoned corn on the cob, and several shrimp. Several whole shrimp, one with the head, legs and tail still on, and still in the shell. Jane just stared at them with distaste. They reminded him too damn much of scorpions*. His one consolation was that Lisbon hadn't been here to witness his girly-man act.

As Jane bit vengefully into the first shrimp, he heard Lisbon's highly amused voice. "Jane did _what_?"

_Oh, sheep dip._

Additional A/N: One more chapter to go! I'm not done tormenting our favorite consultant yet. In future stories, I'll have Jane getting the upper hand, and even some dramas.

Story disclaimers:

*I've never been to the Pecan Grove Trailer Park, but I read that it's a cool and funky place.

*Scorpions and shrimp belong to the same phylum in the animal kingdom, Arthropoda, and share several characteristics: segmented bodies, jointed appendages, exoskeletons, and both are invertebrates, so it's no wonder Jane took a visual dislike to the shrimp. Somewhere way back in the mists of evolutionary time scorpions and shrimp have the same ancestor, and if you stretch your imagination a little, they do resemble each other.

Re: reviews- I'm sorry I haven't replied to any reviews lately. I need to kick my lazy butt into higher gear. My aim is to post a new chapter to an existing story once a week, or post a new story once a week, and to be more timely on responding to reviews.

To Guest: I love dogs, and I'd have one if I could. My family had a beagle when I was a girl, and he was a character, always getting out of our backyard. That's why I decided on making the dog in the last chapter a beagle.

To all reviewers, a general reply: I'm already writing the next and I hope last chapter, and I plan on posting it next weekend. Thanks, everyone for your kind reviews!


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